


Of Spring Hunts

by oanja



Category: Iskryne Series - Elizabeth Bear & Sarah Monette
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 15:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oanja/pseuds/oanja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Vethulf wondered if he would have urged Kjaran on so vigorously during Viradechtis’ mating if he had known what it would actually be like to have Isolfr as his wolfsprechend.  If he'd known how Isolfr still seemed as unattainable to him as he had been on that first day they had met. Vethulf looked at Isolr’s scarred profile and thought to himself, yes, yes, he would have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Spring Hunts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [autumndynasty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumndynasty/gifts).



> For autumndynasty. Happy Yuletide!
> 
> There is a hunting scene in this so a poor innocent deer is killed and butchered. So maybe a warning for animal harm is in order?
> 
> Thank you dropsofviolet for the emergency beta. All remaining mistakes are mine

The spring sunshine was faint and weak, but it was a great improvement over the winter months that had seemed to linger past their welcome. Vethulf had been up since dawn and on the move almost as long. He had followed Kjaran’s wish to get out of the stink of their threat and into the wild. Kjaran was happy in Franangford, maybe happier than Vethulf was, but even then, the wolf needed to roam and hunt. They had gone alone this morning, although Kjaran had tried to tempt both Mar and Viradechtis to go with them.

 

Viradechtis had seemed tempted, but her cubs were still too small to go with and she wasn’t ready to leave them for hours on time yet. Isolfr had laid a hand on his wolfsister’s flank and Velhulf could feel them talking to one another. The two of them could communicate on a level that sometimes awed Vethulf, and it made him wonder if it was something unique to them or if all wolfsprechends could manage such a feat.

 

To Vethulf’s great relief Mar hadn’t gone with them either, so he didn’t have to spend half his day with Skjaldwulf. They never talked about what happened between them on the road to battle and after. Vethulf wasn’t sure why they had lain together.  Had it been in desperation, because they didn’t know if they would ever come home to Isolfr alive? Had it been some last remnant of battle madness, or had they just needed someone to share heat and affection with?

 

Vethulf could never tell what Skjaldwulf wanted, or what he was thinking, as no matter how good the man was with words, he could spend as much time being quiet. Vethulf snorted in disgust at himself, for these were the men he was bound to: Skjaldwulf with his mild manners and easy words and Isolfr, as distant and unattainable as the moon. Sometimes he worried that he was the odd man out in their small circle, too brash and angry, always putting his foot in his mouth and managing to anger Isolfr or any man. It was hard not to compare himself to Skjaldwulf and the way he was favoured by the men of their treat, and even by Isolfr, who had known Skjaldwulf for years and seemed more at ease with him present.

 

And Vethulf was aware enough to notice this; he knew he always managed to agitate Isolfr, but he didn’t know how not to. Was a man supposed to change himself completely? If so, Vethulf wasn’t sure he would be able to even if he wanted to. He always had the best intentions when he started a conversation with Irolfr, but somehow they always ended up at odds. Not that Isolfr said so much directly, but there was always that moment when Vethulf could feel Viradechtis stir in the pack sense, suddenly paying more attention to her wolfbrother, and it was as clear a sign as any that Vethulf had once again managed to anger his wolfspechend.

 

It was no use thinking on these things, Vethulf knew.  He picked up his pace, jumped over a fallen tree trunk and continued on his way, following the knowledge Kjaran was sending him of the scent of a spring-thin deer. Hunting was always hard this close to their treat, as most animals knew to avoid places that smelled so strongly of wolves and men, but once in a while prey did stray close enough for their hunters to bring in a kill without venturing so far from Farangford that they had to spend the night away from home.

 

Kjaran was in a good mood. All was well in his mind. Viradechtis’ cubs were well-fed and growing rapidly, so their pack was growing stronger. Viradechtis herself had come out of her den almost a week ago and the whole wolf pack was better for it, with her leading them firmly. Kjaran caught onto his thoughts and sent the impression that both Viradechtis and Mar would be impressed with their hunt if they caught the deer. Then he sent the image of all the six of them, wolves and men snuggled in their tent together, although that hadn’t happened since the cubs had been born and both Isolfr and Viradechtis had been tending to them.

‘Soon,’ Kjaran insisted and Vethulf huffed out an amused breath at his wolf’s optimism. None of the wolves seemed to care about the tensions between their human brothers.

 

Still, no matter if the others would be impressed or not. Vethulf would gladly have some fresh meat in his dinner tonight, so he increased his pace even more, sensing that Kjaran was catching up to the deer and was herding it towards a steep and rocky hill where the deer would be forced to slow down enough for Vethulf to catch up to his brother and their prey. He checked his bowstring and notched an arrow as he started curving towards the north, so he could approach Kjaran and their prey downwind. 

 

He could hear the deer now; it was causing small landslides as it knocked small rocks down the steep hillside. Kjaran was silent in comparison, but Vethulf could feel the excitement in his brother. It had been a while since their last hunt and this time Kjaran didn’t have to share it with anyone. Vethulf came into view of the quarry and took careful aim.  The deer was moving erratically as it was chased down and down by Kjaran.

 

Vethulf let the arrow loose and watched with satisfaction as it hit its mark, landing solidly in the neck of the deer. As the deer stumbled from the impact, Kjaran took his chance and bounced on the deer’s flank, making it lose its balance, and both wolf and man watched for a moment as the deer stumbled even further down the hillside.

 

Then they were both running, Kjaran obviously faster and already closer, but Vethulf wasn’t far behind. When he got to the deer, Kjaran had his jaws around the creature's neck and had already killed it. Vethulf looked at the deer, appraising.  It really was rather skinny, but it would taste as good as any prize mutton once they got it back to Franagford. It had been that kind of a winter.

 

Kjaran let the deer go once he was sure he’d killed it, and watched with interest as Vethulf cut open the stomach, eager for the intestines and organs.

 

“You got the best share of this. There won’t be much meat to go around once we feed some of the people. And I bet Viradechtis will take all that’s left for her cubs. Bones left for everyone else,” Vethulf mused out loud, as Kjaran gobbled down the gory bits, staining his maw.

 

Kjaran seemed happy about the thought, but did add the sensation of cracking open a juicy bone and licking the marrow out, which felt like the treat it was.

 

Once Vethulf had cleaned up the carcass the best he could, he hauled the deer onto his shoulders with a grunt. Skinny or not, the deer had been fully grown and suddenly the way home seemed a lot longer than it had been.

 

Kjaran circled around Vethulf, not willing to leave his side ith the prize at stake, so at least Vethulf had some company on his trek back towards the treat. He had to take a few breaks along

the way, and after a while the dull throbbing of the deer’s weight on his shoulders transformed into a more insistent ache. Still Vethulf marched on, almost without thought, trusting that Kjaran would lead him in the right direction,.  So when another wolf jogged into view it took Kjaran by surprise.

 

Kjaran bounded up to meet her and Viradechtis greeted her mate affectionately, licking at his ear and then at his still-bloody nose more eagerly.  She then looked at Vethulf and even he could tell her meaning from the packsense.  She wanted her share. All men in a treat knew who had the real power in a heall, but usually wolves dealt with wolves and men with men. Vethulf paused for a moment, unsure if he should set down the deer or not.

 

“Don’t indulge her, she can wait,” came the sound of Isolfr’s voice and the pale man stepped into view from among the trees.

 

Viradechtis growled in displeasure, but didn’t do anything more; instead she circled around Kjaran and Vethulf and disappeared from view as fast as she had appeared. Kjaran followed her without a moment’s hesitation, making Vethulf sigh. He wished all things were as simple as they seemed to wolves.

 

Isolfr was watching him with those pale eyes, his hair in neat braids. From the look of it, he’d had time to use the steam bath that day. And he was beautiful, there was no getting around it. Not even the scar now marring his face, still red and angry-looking instead of the pink color of old scars, hid Isolfr’s beauty. Not to Vethulf’s eyes at least, no, to him it actually made Isolfr look a bit more human, a bit easier to approach, as if this proof that he was just as human as any man would make it easier to understand him, to love him.

 

“Viradechtis didn’t want to wait, and I thought you might need a hand.  You’ve been carrying that for hours now,” Isolfr said, and took the deer from him before he had a chance to protest.

 

“Now you’ll be covered in blood.  There was no need, I could have managed,” Vethulf protested, even as his back and legs thanked Isolfr for unburdening him.

 

Isolfr gave him a cool look and Vethulf cursed himself again. Here he was again, berating Isolfr, when the other man had actually come seeking his company. No matter if it had actually been at Viradechtis’ prompting -- he had learned to take what he could get.

 

“We’re not that far from Franangford anymore. An hour’s walk at most,” Isolfr said, ignoring Vethulf’s protest and started walking back towards where he’d come from. Vethulf had no other choice but to follow him.

 

“Viradechtis has remembered she left her cubs with Amma. She’s running back now,” Isolfr said, smiling faintly and Vethulf tried to imprint the expression into his memory. Isolfr was so somber and he almost never smiled when in Vethulf's company.

 

“I could have cut her a piece.  It wouldn’t have mattered so much,” Vethulf said and scratched the back of his neck where some blood had matted his hair, making it stick to his skin and itch.

 

“She has been fed the best out of anyone in Farangford.  There are others who need this meat more.” Isolfr’s voice was mild, but Vethulf was sure the wolfsprechend knew how men had been giving her parts of their meals when she had appeared from of her den, looking lean and hungry.

 

Vethulf was trying to think of something to say when Isolfr surprised him by keeping the conversation alive himself. “Skjaldwulf will go to the quarry tomorrow.  We will need stone soon.  The build is getting to that point.”

 

Vethulf tried not to bristle at the mention of the other wolfjarl, but it was hard not to. Of course Skjaldwulf would go; nobody would trust him with negotiations. What good was he as a wolfjarl? Especially now when the trolls were gone and they had peace. What good were any of them?

 

“You won’t go?” Vethulf asked and looked at Isolfr, who was trekking along the forest floor, as sure-footed as any wolf. One of his braids was already tinted brownish-red from the blood that kept dripping from the carcass he was carrying. Vethulf reached out and pulled the braid out from between the deer and Isolfr’s shoulder.

 

The gesture must have startled Isolfr, who glanced at him with a frown and then away, quickly. Vethulf sighed heavily and let his hand drop. Isolfr was not a man who enjoyed even the most innocent touch with ease.

 

“You will need to wash your hair again,” Vethulf commented, offering that as a sort of explanation.

 

Isolfr looked unconcerned. There was no other man Vethulf had ever known who was so unconcerned about his looks. No one as fine as Isolfr at least.

 

“You need the bath more. I’m not the one with blood up to my elbows.”

 

Vethulf glanced down at himself. Isolfr was right of course. Vethulf had tried to wipe away most of the blood from his arms with moss, but still, his skin was dyed with the dried blood.

 

“True enough.” It took all his might not to ask if Isolfr would join him and help him wash. Isolfr also didn’t take well to that sort of talk.

 

Damn him for—but no, there was no damning Isolfr for anything. As Skjaldwulf had said, it just wasn’t in his nature. No matter how much Vethulf wished for it, wished for a chance to win Isolfr over. Wished to have the other man, eager and willing in his arms. Not in the madness of Viradechtis’ heat, but out of genuine desire.

 

Sometimes Vethulf wondered if he would have urged Kjaran on so vigorously during Viradechtis’ mating if he had known what it would actually be like to have Isolfr as his wolfsprechend.  If he'd known how Isolfr still seemed as unattainable to him as he had been on that first day they had met. Vethulf looked at Isolr’s scarred profile and thought to himself, yes, yes, he would have.

 


End file.
